Happy Belated Birthday, Italy! (GerIta)
by sidneyjade999
Summary: I'm sorry. It's the best I could do. I know they're a bit OOC, but bear with me. It's been a while since I've seen it. This is mainly a GerIta piece, but there are also Spamano and Itacest in it. (Sorry! It's the tomato bastardo's fault for inviting France over so often!) Plus, it's Lovi's day, too, so I couldn't leave him out. It's kind of sexual, and takes place in the modern day


"But I love the_ donne_! Germany!" Italy tried to yell to his friend, but his wails came out like whimpers.

"Feliciano," the dominating German boomed from behind, "shut up! Vhen vill you stop obsessing over zhese ladies? I need you…. Right now!" He laid his gloved hand on the smaller nation's back between his shoulder blades.

Italy had just been turned down by another "_donna_" and refused to look at Germany up until that point. But he now jerked his head slightly, making his thin curl bounce. He seemed to be smiling, if only a little. "Do… Do you mean that, Germany?"

"Ja, of course. Why would I lie?" Germany replied stiffly, wondering what Italy could be thinking. He was always puzzled by the boyish young man he once slept beside.

"Oh, Germany!" Italy yelled as he turned and jumped onto his friend. He hung off his neck. _You remembered, didn't you? _he thought to himself. He dropped down, finger tips lingering on his friend's thick neck as he smiled warmly up at him. "So, what do you _need_ me for?" he asked, almost giggling.

During the hug, Germany had tensed, having forgotten what it was like to be touched by Italy. His heart had fluttered every time they had just brushed arms when they were the Axis Powers. _Ah, but don't zhink of zhat now_, Germany scolded himself, blushing. As soon as he felt the small nation's weight lift off of him, he sighed in relief, though his irksome touch remained. He thought, irritated, Mein Gott_, vhat is zhis nonsensical feeling? Get it togezhere, Ludvig!_

Germany cleared his throat. "I remember you vonce talking vizh Turkey. He said you had kicked his _arsch._ I'm kind of in a… heated argument vizh him. I vas vondering if you could help me. You are _mein_ friend, after all." He didn't like asking for help, especially of Italy, and least of all today. Oh yes, he remembered, but he wouldn't be able to do anything for him until he got Sadik off of his back.

Italy's face fell slightly, but he smiled nonetheless. He had no idea that the sad look in his barely-opened eyes was paining Germany so much. What Germany couldn't see was that there was another reason he wasn't as upbeat as he was a few moments before. "Oh, sure thing, Germany! I'll help you."

"Hey, Turkey!" Italy called to the brooding man walking down the street.

"Hmm? Oh, it's you, _Italya. Merhaba_. How are you, eh?"

Italy jogged up to the masked man and slapped him hard on the back. He ignored the country's audible wince. "I'm great, Turkey! But I heard you and Germany are mad at each other. Why is that?"

He laughed and sweared in Turkish about how lame and unsuccessful Germany was as Italy nodded along as though he was entranced. He began to tell him about his plans to invade. Suddenly, it dawned on the nation that his enemy and Italy were close friends at some point. Italy didn't seem the type to spy, but it was best not to risk it. "Ah, but that really isn't any of your business, is it, _Italya_?" he chuckled, rubbing his neck lightly.

The small man stopped abruptly, making the other turn to face his slowly-creeping-along irritation. "It isn't? How strange." He ripped out the earpiece that had let Germany hear what was going on and dropped it to the ground. He smiled all the same, crushing it under his stylish leather shoe as he slowly walked toward the gaudy man.

"Um…"

"Because I thought that it is one's responsibility to help his friends. And being that you are such a weak country when I step onto the playing field, one might think you would know better than talk _merda_ about my friends. And it is furthermore stupid for you to assume that telling me that you plan on invading Germany will not anger me. _Sti cazza_. You _pompinara miseria._ Are you entirely sure it isn't you who is thick in the _testa_?" Italy's voice was dripping with poisoned sweetness as he made his way closer toward Turkey, who was now backing up quickly. "Oh. I see. You think it is fun to pick on the nations that might not be as strong as you. Let me tell you something, _stronzo._ It was not a very bright idea to pick on my _amore della mia vita_. You want to have a go at him? Try it, Sadik, but I warn you now. It won't end well for you."

Turkey stared as he took quick steps behind him. He hadn't thought of this…. The creepy smile on Italy's face… It was not a good sign. His eyes were slightly open, too. And that was far worse.

"Come on, _Turchia._ Let's just settle this here and now, okay?" He entwined his fingers together and stretched his arms out in front of him, popping and cracking loudly from his recent lack of physical strain. However, that was not to say that he couldn't take this pathetic excuse for a nation, as he later described Turkey to Germany, down in two seconds flat. It just wouldn't strain him.

"No, no. I'll back off, okay? I'll… What—Hey! S-stop it! No! Get away! NO!"

~~~TURKEY_GETS_A_BEAT_DOWN~~~

Italy blushed as Germany sped down the road, his Volks Wagon barreling toward him at high speed. He knew he was about to be yelled at. He didn't really care much though. He had taken down Turkey without any trouble, and, because of the reason he was doing so, it was fun for him. Germany wouldn't be bothered by him again. Perhaps they could even spend the rest of the evening together, like in the old days. No, Italy was happy that Germany was so upset. At least, until…

"_Che cazzo_?"

Oh, no. He didn't. Why would he do this? For God's sake, why?

"_Porca troia_, you _idiota_!" Romano bellowed. He jumped out before the car had even pulled up to where Italy was standing over Turkey's unconscious body and sprinted to him before Germany reached them. "What the hell were you thinking, Italy?"

"Oh, hi, Romano," Italy said to him, still warily trying to keep his nonchalant smile on his face. He had to admit it; his brother scared him. Romano was loud, vulgar, and a bit of what Japan called a "tsundere". He was also very dominating and, though he knew his brother loved him, was always bullying him for the little mistakes he made. On top of that, he had started a bunch of mobs, and there were still so many out there. "What are you doing here?"

"Worrying about your ass! Why did-a you cut off-a communication?"

Oh, dear. Italy had not been prepared for this question. He was glad to see Germany's car pull over when it did. He smiled brightly as the blonde stomped over quickly. "Hey, Germany! What took you so long?"

The German growled and grabbed Italy by the shoulders and shook him as lightly as he could, which wasn't very lightly at all. "_Mein Gott_, Italy! Vhat vere you zhinking? Vhy vould you do somezhing so stupid and reckless? You had us vorried sick!"

"I'm sorry, Germany! I didn't mean for you to worry." He got himself lose from his friend's grasp and wrapped his arms around his neck. "_Grazie_, Germany," he whispered into his ear.

Now, Italy was an innocent country. Germany knew he meant nothing by it, other than to simply say "thanks." But it was very difficult to convince his body of the same thing. Italy's warm breath directly on his sensitive earlobe alone was enough to get him hard, but the way Italy had said his name was enough to get himself bigger. _Zhis country is nozhing but trouble_, Germany thought to himself.

"Hey! Get off of each other like that!" the once-best-friends heard Romano yelling distantly.

"I'll vait for you in zhe car." He started to go.

"Oh, Romano," Italy said, dropping down and smiling broadly at his brother. He said innocently to him, "I thought you were spending our day with Spain. Thanks for coming to see if I'm alright, too! I am!"

Romano stiffened at the mention of his… What was Spain to him? _Nothing more than a tomato _bastardo_, that's what! _he thought angrily as he blushed furiously. "Whatever," he muttered, walking away. "I'm-a going home."

"Tell Spain I said hi!"

Romano turned on his heel and was suddenly right in front of Italy. He lowered his face slightly and locked eyes with his Northern counterpart. The glare he shot sent shivers down Italy's back. "Feliciano, you _idiota_! Talk about-a him again, I-a dare you!"

"Okay, okay. I won't, Lovino," he whispered, truly frightened, even after what he had just done to Turkey.

Southern Italy glanced toward where Germany sat in the Volks Wagon waiting, seeing that he was preoccupied with reading something. He grabbed Italy's face with a gloved grip and pulled him up a bit. "I told you a thousand times," he hissed in their native tongue, "not to speak of Spain. Do you want to see the kinds of things I had to put up with? It was agonizing and embarrassing."

"But I thought it didn't hurt anymore," Italy responded in the same language.

"I doesn't happen anymore!" Romano snapped. Then, for almost no apparent reason at all, his voice quivered slightly. "What the hell is wrong with you? I… No."

"What? What is it, brother?"

Sighing,he leaned closer, their noses almost touching. "I miss him."

"You? You miss him?" Italy stretched his smile as wide as it would go with his brother's fingers pushing his cheeks in. "Aw, that's so cute."

Romano sighed again and laid his forehead on Italy's. He never would have admitted it, but he was on the verge of tears. "Feli… I'm such a fuck up."

"Why would you say that?" he asked, touching his brother's cheek lightly with his bare fingertips.

"I mess everything up. That's why he likes you so much more than me. That's why he's so nice to me. It sickens me."

"No, Romano, he really likes you. Just go ask him. He will say it, I know. Go, do it."

"I can't. I'm…" He breathed deeply, nodding only slightly. What was wrong with him? He was so pathetic that he couldn't deal with his emotions without turning to someone. As uncomfortable as he was, he decided to flip it around on Italy. "What about you, huh?" he chuckled. "You are clearly infatuated with that fuck-hole in the Volks Wagon."

"Hey, he's not a… Oh." He noticed Romano smiling, if only slightly. He blushed as he let his words sink in. "No, we're just really good friends."

"Feli, I know what I see. You love him. I hate it. I can't stand Germans. But if you really like him, I could ignore it. Maybe." He pressed his lips into Italy's and gave him a quick, passionate kiss goodbye. His brother was stunned but kissed back submissively, holding Romano's jaw with trembling fingers. He broke away after a few seconds, tapped the underside of his brother's chin, and began to walk off again. He went back to speaking that language that all countries could somehow understand as he called over his shoulder, "It's our day. _Ti amo_, Feliciano!"

"_Ti amo_, Lovino!" Italy called back to him. He thought awkwardly, _I think Spain's been inviting France over a lot lately. _He walked back to where Germany waited for him.

Little did Italy know, Germany had seen the whole thing and had only understood their three names and the word "love." He couldn't help but wonder if he and Italy's small flame had been extinguished in that one, powerful kiss. And if it had? Well, what could he do about it? If Italy didn't want to be his… had never wanted to be his… that was fine by him. _Who are you kidding? You really do love him. Und he und his _brudder_ are perfectly happy vizhout you._

"So," Italy said as he got into the car and buckled up next to Germany, "sorry I took so long. And I'm sorry I took out my earpiece. I just didn't want you to hear me get mad. But I got him." He smiled broadly at Germany.

"Uh, ja, zhanks for zhat." He started the car and began to drive Italy home. Aside from Italy's humming along with the stereo, they spoke only once throughout the first half of the drive.

"Germany, my house is back there, I think," Italy said, yawning. "We should turn around."

"I know vhere I'm going. It'll be a vhile before ve get zhere. You should try to get a little rest, take a _siesta_." He turned down the radio.

With Germany's permission, Italy crawled to the back and covered himself with a blanket. He fell into a dreamless sleep quickly. Germany sighed. This was ridiculous. He had taken Turkey down, knocked him unconscious, and had not a scratch. What would he do to Germany if… No, he couldn't bring himself to think like that. Italy had to feel the same way for him, or he would be lost. Nations were not supposed to feel this way, especially not Germany.

But he did.

And he didn't care.

~~~I_SORRY_I_NO_KNOW_HOW_TO_TIMESKIP_~~~

Italy woke up about an hour after crawling into the back of the car. He was still groggy, but almost instantly recognized this place. It was Germany's room. Everything but the bed was tidy. He took a whiff of the pillow his head was on, and his slightly musky scent filled his nostrils and sent shivers down his back. It was just like the old days. The only thing missing was Germany.

"Germany?" he called out, sitting up. "Where are you, Germany?"

"Italy," his husky voice sounded through the closed door that led to the hallway. "Can I come inside?"

"Of course! It's your room!"

Germany coughed as there was nothing left to say, but he felt that he should respond somehow. He opened the door slightly to see Italy, sitting in his bed, hair wild and curl crinkled. He was beginning to regret his decision to bring him back here.

"Aren't you going to sleep with me?" he asked the German.

"Um, ja. It is kind of late." He walked over to the bed and kicked off his shoes. Italy was still wearing his clothes, but Germany was not used to that doing that while he slept. He stripped of his jacket, shirt, and trousers and climbed into the bed.

"I like you, Germany," Italy said before Germany could say anything.

"I like you, too, Italy," he answered, shocked. Wasn't that supposed to be his line? Of course, Italy had no idea how much Germany liked him. Or so Germany thought.

Italy propped himself up on his elbow and stared at his friend intently. "Germany?" He laid a hand on Germany's arm lightly. When he flinched, he pulled away again. "_Grazie_, Germany," he sighed. He sighed again and decided to face the wall.

As he rolled over, Germany heard him mutter something in Italian. "Vhat vas zhat?"

"Goodnight," Italy said over his shoulder. He was all out of pep. It was beginning to worry Germany.

He sat up. He reached over and pulled on his shoulder, making him lay down flat on his back. Cocking his head at the now wide-eyed Italian, he asked him as softly as he could, "Italy, vhat is it? Is somezhing wrong?"

"N-no. I just…" He remembered what he had told his brother earlier that day. He had to do it. _Be brave. You can do it._ However, before he had the chance, Germany began talking.

"Italy, I'm not sure how to say zhis. I… You are probably my best friend. Und I don't like zhat." He pulled Italy, who was now close to tears because of that last statement, up to him. He wanted to look away from those large, brown eyes, but he had to force himself to do it. "_Ich… Ich liebe dich_."

This had been one of the worst birthdays he had, had. Romano was spending the day with Spain, none of the _donne_ would give him a chance, and he had to deal with someone trying to invade Germany. The small nation now was crying. "Germany!" He threw himself onto the other man. "_Ti amo_," he whispered before leaning into him.

Italy wasn't in the least bit scared of what he hoped would come of these words. He brushed Germany's cheeks with his fingers as he pressed their lips together. Germany kissed back and let his tongue press onto Italy's bottom lip. Italy opened his mouth slightly, and Germany tasted his cold, salty tears as his tongue played with his. They were giving their all to each other, as they had wanted to do since the days Germany only barely remembered. They murmured _I love you_'s as they broke for air.

Germany had not been expecting this reaction from Italy. He hardly thought Italy would be alright with coming to his house instead of his own. What had that kiss between him and Romano meant, then? He sighed, not wanting to care about that now.

"I love you." They had both said it. They had both meant it. And now, they both proved it to each other.

~~~GERITA~~~

Germany woke up to the bright light flooding in through his curtains. He groaned a bit, but he got up nonetheless. He threw the covers off of him and stared at his bare self. Suddenly, memories of his night with Italy came flooding back to him. He flushed furiously as he ran to where his clothes lay halfway across the room. He tugged them on quickly and turned back around to the bed, where Italy did not lay.

Germany drew a sharp intake of breath and flew down the stairs, calling the smaller nation's name. Where could he have gotten to? Why did he leave? Surely he hadn't felt taken advantage of…. "Italy! Italy, where are you?"

Finally he reached the kitchen, and found Italy cooking pasta, messy and with enthusiastic humming, like in their Axis days.

"Oh, good morning, Germany," he said to him, grinning at him. "I didn't think you were going to wake up so early, because you seemed exhausted after—Anyway, I'm making breakfast."

Germany shook his head and pulled his lover into his arms. He unintentionally tightened his arms around him, and, though Italy was tough, it nearly choked him. "You scared me, Italy." Teasingly, he added, breathing hot puffs of air onto Italy's earlobe, "Don't ever leave my side again, or you'll be punished severely."

Italy pushed his own arms up through Germany's and wrapped them around his thick neck. "Not that I really want to, but I almost do when you say it like that."

Dear God. In taking Italy's virginity that night, he had created a misogynistic man out of the once innocent young thing. And he loved every second of it.


End file.
